We didn't start the fire (but we tried to fight it)
by Lizicia
Summary: 'What they're doing is wrong, Liz has accepted that much. It contradicts everything she's ever thought about herself, and will probably end badly but she can't find it in her to care as long as the world burns with them.' Keen/Ressler.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is something that I just wanted to write, to test myself and to see how far I could get with Keen and Ressler and if I could write a story without any dialogue. This is decidedly AU (or maybe a very distant imagining of the future?) and basically follows_ Strike the Match_, though could be taken as a separate story as well.

This is probably strong T, so fair warning.

**Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. Title is from Billy Joel's _We Didn't Start the Fire_.**

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What started as a resolution to something he put into motion at a seedy nightclub while undercover, is really her doing if she lets herself acknowledge that she's the one that couldn't get the feeling of his hands on her hips out of her mind. From the very first moment his lips touched hers, she knew she would never forget it and tried to burn as much of it as she could into her memories forever. The way his injured side felt against her palm, the way his muscles contracted as she unwittingly and without thought touched it, the glint in his eyes when he whispered her name as a question, the second it took for an idea to form in her head. And she forgot all the rest; that she's married, that he's her partner, that it's crazy and dangerous and just went ahead and kissed him.

What they're doing is wrong, Liz has accepted that much. It contradicts everything she's ever thought about herself, everything everyone else has probably thought about her, so she thinks about it as little as she can. It's not an affair because she won't label it, she won't think about everything wrapped around it because it would become a weight on her shoulders and she doesn't want that. She never tells herself she's not cheating, though; the thought just stays with her and she hardens her heart against it, never willing to profile her own actions.

To Ressler's credit, neither does he. He never asks anything, never demands explanations, never even seems to entertain the idea that they should talk about this. Even after the first time he merely gave her a glance as she left and his eyes gave away no emotions.

_He presses her against the wall, all hard muscles and rough edges and she likes it. There's nothing sweet or caring about it, no smoothly caressing hands, only an edgy friction she craves, and the large hands that instinctively grip her hips. His mouth finds the spot behind her ear that makes her shudder and she just knows he smiles against her skin, proud and a bit smug for coaxing that response out of her._

It's not an affair because they never plan for this to happen; at least she doesn't. But as soon as they head out somewhere, as soon as the plane takes off, Liz can feel the itch, starting in the thrumming of her hand, in the dark recesses of her mind, burning with an intensity she can't quite control. And then it follows her around to every crime scene, on every car ride, in every step, makes her wonder how soon they can find a hotel room and sneak up or down a floor. Sometimes she thinks she can see that same edge of energy in Ressler but he never even hints at it.

_She shrugs off her jacket and helps him slide his over his shoulders and then undoes the buttons on her shirt and his. He never initiates this; it's as if he knows how much control she wants to exert, how she needs to have this thing and he lets her willingly. But then his hands slide over her stomach, smooth the edges of her bra, pop the button on her pants and he takes that control from her without leaving her powerless. _

She doesn't let herself think what it means; to her, to him, to their job. If it was anyone else, she would be ashamed and worried about hurting them but somehow, it never seems as if any of this scratches even the surface when it comes to him. He doesn't treat her any differently, doesn't stand closer to her, doesn't let her get away with things and if she didn't know firsthand what they were doing, she would never know by just observing him. The more they do this, the less she can read him, a most puzzling occurrence and just hopes she doesn't become more transparent through it.

But then there are times, the rarest of times when he tells her something good, when he tells her she handled a situation well or she made the right call and she can't help but search some other meaning behind those kind words. And maybe she's deluding herself but in those moments it seems as if they're both thinking of the same thing, of what they never speak of and he lets some emotion rise to the surface. But she blinks and it's gone.

_They lose the rest of their clothing quickly, shedding everything to feel the skin underneath, to confirm they're really here, really doing this and nothing will stop it from happening. He kisses her a bit rough, more demanding and it's so different from what she's used to that this alone makes her want to surrender herself and she has to physically hold herself back. There is nothing smooth about him, all jaded and with a hint of bitterness, nothing apologetic about him and she likes it. She craves it, she thrives on it and the more he does it, the more she wants it._

There's always a bed but there hasn't been a single time they've made it that far, so Liz is very familiar with a lot of walls and desks, a couple of couches and even one surprisingly comfortable armchair. She's not sure if they never make it to bed because they're always in such a hurry or because they actively avoid it; beds are for lovers and this is not about that.

_The moment he pushes into her is always her favorite; all the restraint that he shows is remarkable and there's always a pause he takes before moving, a moment as if to tell himself something, to remind what this is. And then the air changes, he – always – kisses her neck and the world moves and she tries to hold on, tries to hold back. But it's too much, and she can't keep postponing it forever; it takes one slight change in angle, one carefully planned move and the precipice is right there._

He never says her name, never says anything at all, only rarely allows himself a few grunts. She prefers it, doesn't want to know what she could hear if he actually spoke. She doesn't know if the silence is because he knows how much he could give away of himself by speaking or if he's the same with everyone but she's come to appreciate the only sound being their breathing. Tom always calls her _Lizzie_ or _babe_ and she's starting to resent him for that.

_It ends the way it always does. They dress in silence and Ressler leaves because this time he came to her. She looks at the closed door for a long moment, reveling in the continuing hum of her body, in the way every nerve ending still buzzes with residual energy, in the knowledge that she'll be a bit sore in the morning. She takes a deep breath and can still smell his unique scent; whether it permeates the room or is firmly etched to her skin, it is nevertheless there and there's something simultaneously soothing and unnerving about it._

Liz knows that Red knows because he told her as much. _This is a dangerous game you're playing, Lizzie._ She knows he must have also said something to Ressler because he avoided her for the next three cases. And then she almost died and he was back, never saying anything about his absence or whether seeing her in such dire circumstances made the decision for him but she didn't ask either, only acquiesced.

But she's certain everyone else is oblivious; Meera hasn't given her any inquisitive looks, Cooper hasn't reminded her about certain FBI rules and Tom hasn't made any snide remarks. The truth is, she almost wants him to find out, wants to discover whether he would be hurt because she's come to think there isn't much that could hurt him. Once she loved him, she craved for his attention, she wanted to have a family with him; now she barely trusts him even though he's done nothing to really warrant that. But she can't get that box out of her head, can't forget the picture in Gina Zanetakos' house, can't not believe Red when he tells her to be wary of Tom. Once she would've protected him from the whole world and did so and now she hides from him.

It will most probably end badly, with her marriage crumbling – or whatever is left of it – and both their careers ending or at least backtracked a couple of years. If she thought Ressler would listen to her, she would tell him to stop, to think of his job, to not compromise himself like this, not for her. But another smaller part of her knows that if she asked him to, he probably would stop and she doesn't want him to. She wants to keep him, wants to see how far they can get, wants to see the world burn with them and once, just once, wants to hear him say her name like he means it.

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**A/N: I honestly didn't think I would write anything even remotely close to this but you know, best laid plans. Anyway, do let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Ah, this story. I didn't even say it was a one-shot - though I marked it as complete - because I was fairly certain I would be writing from Ressler's POV and here it is.

A big thank you to everyone who left a review, it is very appreciated! Here goes Ressler's look on things, hopefully explaining his mindset for those of you that wondered.

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Truthfully, he doesn't know what they're doing. He doesn't know because he doesn't let himself think about it and most of all, definitely doesn't ask Keen about it. He's always been a principled man, an honorable man, someone with dignity and ideals but if he was to analyze himself and them, he would have to revalue those ideas. And that is something he doesn't know he would be willing to accept.

Ressler never wanted this, never expected an illicit affair – because that's exactly what it is, an_ affair_ – and yet he finds himself powerless to stop, to put an end to this madness. He doesn't know what she thinks because he never asks; she's the one with the husband he tries hard not to think about, tries not to acknowledge the vows they're both breaking. But every time he touches her, he knows that his hands are not the only ones that know her body in such an intimate way and that tinge of uncomfortableness that comes with that knowledge never quite leaves him.

_She's soft between the wall and himself and he enjoys that contrast, enjoys it in a way he never should've even known and that thought alone makes him press harder, makes his hands grip tighter and his focus narrows. But he likes the softness she presents, can smell the fragrance she's preferred ever since their one undercover operation and that memory makes him kiss her neck, to try and inhale that scent and let it surround him. She shudders against his lips and he smiles; there's a heady power in the knowledge of what he can do to her._

Almost every time they have the opportunity to be anywhere but at their respective homes, he knows what will come next. He knows they're both thinking of the same thing though they never plan for anything; plans make this real, make this a premeditated act rather than a _force majeure_. From the very beginning, from that first moment that she kissed him, he's been accepting this situation they're in because it seems unavoidable. So when she finds him, late at night, he never shuts the door in her face like he should have done the first time but opens the door wider and invites the trouble in.

_The suits she wears are almost masculine and he takes great pleasure in watching the jacket fall off her shoulders and reveal the femininity underneath. There's a hint of vulnerability in her eyes as she unbuttons her shirt and then his and he never stops her, never helps her along because a part of him understands her need for this. But he knows that she thrives on not being in control all the time so as soon as the vulnerability disappears from her eyes, his hands are everywhere, inching across soft and already familiar skin and when he pops open the button of her pants, she almost gives him everything right then._

The first time she came to him, he was confused but they were both a bit emotional, the toll of him almost being injured wearing on them, or at least that's how he justified this to himself in the morning when he couldn't quite look at her. He was willing to write this off as a one time thing and yet, she kept coming back and he kept letting her.

In return for that lapse in judgment, he's made himself promise not to give anything away about this to her or anyone else and so he exerts every ounce of control he has to not look at her more, to not touch her in public, to never even seem friendly towards her, rather be even more impartial and uncaring. He's strict in their professional life because he doesn't know how to be strict when they're alone and he needs to keep some aspect of his life under control.

But while he manages to evade everyone else, including Keen, he always knew on some level that Red who sees and knows all would also see this. So when Red corners him at his –_ their_ – office one night, he isn't quite surprised.

"So, Donald. I thought we might have a bit of a chat."

"About what?"

"About what it is you think you're doing with Lizzie."

He gives Red the passive expression he's perfected over the years. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He sees the glint of danger in Red's eyes, the almost predatory look he gets as he steps closer. "You better be careful."

"Or what?" He throws down the challenge, not able to stand down like he should, undeterred by the fact that the man he's facing is a very dangerous man.

"Oh, Donald. You really don't want to know. But nobody hurts her."

He opens his mouth as if to argue, to say that Keen isn't the one who will be hurt in the end - it's everyone around them - but realizes he doesn't really want to because he knows all of that himself, doesn't he?

So he quits. He doesn't accept her silent invitations and if she's puzzled by it, she doesn't say anything because they've never talked about it and this doesn't seem like the time to start. If she was to ask, he would have to answer and they would have to acknowledge things and that just wouldn't do.

But then, inevitably, she gets into trouble. And, almost as inevitably, he feels a tinge of something he's forgotten over time and the next time she comes to him, he obliges and lets her in. And doesn't give Red's threats a second thought.

_When they've finally lost their clothing, she drags her leg up his calf, giving him an indulgent and challenging smile; she sometimes likes to do this, likes to push his buttons. He steals her smile with a rough kiss and she arches against him, completely surrendering herself to him. There's so much that's unbelievably open about her, given everything she's been through and Ressler is always in awe of how much of that he can take, how much of that she is willing to give him._

Despite it all, they're not friends, they can never be friends. They're not lovers either; that would imply something meaningful and important which this can't be. This is a situation, a development, an arrangement but outside of it all they don't grow closer. There is no point.

He sometimes wonders why she chose him, why she wouldn't just do this with someone she doesn't have to see every day, someone who wouldn't know the first thing about her. Until that first time, he had no inkling she even remotely liked him but at the same time, if he's being honest with himself - and there's so little about this he can be honest about - there was always something. And those thoughts only lead him to realize there could only be one possible explanation for why it's him, someone she knows and not some random stranger and he isn't ready to accept that truth.

_Every time they finally get to the point where he feels her surround him, he takes a moment to gather his thoughts and this time is no different. She breathes in, harsher than before and he kisses her neck to offer her a focal point and she relaxes almost instantly. He's never been particularly smooth when it comes to this, more efficient and to the point but something in her makes him understand the importance of the quiet and he wills himself to be present, even wants to give her everything he has to make this better._

He's always been quiet and never found any point in talking or encouragements but when it comes to her, he finds himself actively holding back; her name is always on his mind, on his lips but he never lets it escape. He's never understood the point of saying someone's name but somehow he wants to. And yet he fears she would hear too much because she can and so, he stays silent, rarely allowing himself anything more than deep breaths.

_When he dresses, he can feel her eyes on him and can practically hear her thinking. She's probably wondering the same thing he is – how come this is the first time he's come to her? He's never sought her out before, to distance himself, to convince himself that she is controlling everything and he's merely a participant but now he's changed the rules. And yet, he doesn't know, doesn't want to know what this means. He leaves without a word or a backward glance._

Sometimes he wonders if this could end in any other way than catastrophically. Wonders why he keeps letting her come back, why he won't tell her they can't do this and remind her that she's married and this is all possible kinds of wrong. There's an allure about her that he's been trying to resist since the first time he met her and didn't trust her – still doesn't trust her – but he's not the kind of a man who wouldn't be able to explain everything logically. He doesn't think of himself as a weak man but maybe even the strongest men have a weakness and as cliché as this would sound, a person can be a weakness.

If that one break taught him anything, it's that he can walk away and would, if she asked him to. It wouldn't break him, he's sure of that. It would probably be for the best and yet, he won't be the one to do the right thing for once in his life because he wants to see how far they can take this before they go up in flames.

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**A/N:** Hm. I don't know. Which is appropriate, considering neither does Ressler. But do let me know how it turned out.


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